


Robbery

by bexacaust



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Brothers-In-Arms as a Curse Instead of a Blessing, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23725309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: [[I wanna go back, I wanna go backI wanna go back with a club and attackI wanna take to my guns and break youI gotta make my little foe take his own]]
Kudos: 5





	Robbery

Through death, they both had become confrontational. Through loss, they had become defensive. And through mourning, they had become angry.

Their silence in each other’s presence confused many of the crew. They both had been Wreckers- mechs notorious for becoming close by walking through hellfire and wearing the burns proudly. And yet…. so opposite in behavior. 

Whirl, who proudly boasted of killcounts and a hair-trigger; who bragged of the devastation caused by battlefury and the kind of bloodlust only those with nothing left to lose could experience.

Perceptor, who spoke little and seemed to feel even less. Who could silence with a simple look, who’s pedesteps were the soundtrack of haunting nightmares filled with invisible monsters.

Whirl, who stood tall as a monolith and walked like disaster danced in his footsteps placed as some kind of foil to Perceptor; who wielded badly repaired ethics like a shield and masked his avoidance with a deadpanned desire for concentration.

Yet both had marched with giants.

When they passed each other in the halls, all present felt like they witnessed a standoff between ancient titans- pockmarked by war and fear and loathing of varying degrees. When they dwelt in the same room, mechs often tried to force their locked sights to break for fear the tension would fill the space like carbon monoxide and all things poisonous and invisible.

And then came a single misspoken sentence from the bartender.

“Wow, two whole Wreckers in the bar and nothing broken!”

“One.”, snapped Whirl, “I’m the only Wrecker here. And don’t fuckin’ forget it, either.”

Swerve blinked, opening and closing his mouth in confusion at the sudden biting words from the copter, “U-Uhm-”

“Leave him be, you brute.”, said Perceptor quietly, sipping something from a cocktail glass.

“Kimia got blown ta hell y’know. You can stop jumpin’ to the defense of your science lackey’s , labrat.”

Perceptor looked sideways at Whirl, unamused and frigid as always, “Articulation is the key to making a point, Whirl. Leave the trashy slang for a barracks and pretend to have self-respect.”

Whirl stood, knocking his stool back with a rattle, “YOU GOT SOMETHIN’ TO SAY, GUNFODDER?!”

Perceptor turned, expression darkening, “About your blatant temper tantrum every time you remember I exist? Oh, I have many things to say about that, REJECT.”

“H-Hey now, c’mon guys , ease up-”

“Can it, minibot.”, hissed Whirl, optic bright and angry before his attention redirected back towards Perceptor, “An’ it isn’t a TEMPER TANTRUM, it’ s disgust an’ you KNOW IT Percy.”

“Oho, for what? Being assigned to a legion of lunatics against my will?!”, snarled the sniper as he too stood, fists clenched.

“YOU WEAR OUR NAME LIKE A FUCKIN’ ACCESSORY AND YOU KNOW IT-”

“WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I EVER WANTED THIS ABOMINATION OF A TITLE?!”

The silence was deafening.

Whirl heaved air through his vents, rage leaking out in the form of steam, “You didn’t deserve that mission, you didn’t deserve bein’ there while GOOD MECHS DIED.”

“I never WANTED to be on that bloody mission, you half-torqued dimwit. I wanted to be back HOME, I wanted to be ANYWHERE but there!”, growled Perceptor in answer, “I wanted to be as far away as physically possible instead of stuck on that hellish, godforsaken rock.”

Whirl clacked his claws in anger, taking a step forward, “You never deserved our name, you never deserved a PLACE on that shuttle or in that crew and we ALL KNEW IT.”

“AND I AGREED, YOU TIN-CAN IMBECILE.”, roared Perceptor, “What, should I have been one to DIE on Garrus 9?! Is that what you wanted you ill-wishing bag of karmic FAILURE?!”

“I’M NO FAILURE, YOU RESIN RECAST!”, was Whirl’s bellowed reply, “AND YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT YOU SHOULDA DIED THERE, YOU WERE THE WEAKEST GOD DAMN LINK; IF ANYONE SHOULD HAVE BEEN BURIED IN THAT HELLHOLE IT WAS YOU.”

“At least we agree on something, then.”

That line stopped Whirl in his tracks. His optic flickered, a confused blink warped by an overlarge optic lense as Perceptor stared into him- no, THROUGH him.

“I should have died on Garrus 9. I had no right to survive. Not when we lost so many, not when Ironfist died so far from home. If I could do it all again, I would offer myself as the sacrifice for Aequitas - I would have flung myself into Overlord’s path with far more desperate fervor.”

Whirl took a step back as Perceptor’s plating clamped down.

“If I had a real choice, If I’d ever been GIVEN a choice between what I was and what I became- I would never, EVER had let Drift drag me out of Turmoil’s ship.”

And with that, Perceptor turned on his heel and walked away, tilting his helm down as Brainstorm stood in the doorway- heartbreak and righteous fury battling on his face as he looked from Perceptor, to Whirl, and then away.

A white wingspan seemed to block the doorway, covering Perceptor’s retreating back like a too-late guardian angel and Whirl felt the ever-present chill of isolation in his tanks grow.

* * *


End file.
